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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22382545">the odds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/piinkstxrlight/pseuds/piinkstxrlight'>piinkstxrlight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the odds [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Steven Universe (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aneria // Yellow Diamond, F/F, Marina // Blue Diamond, Rosemary // Pink Diamond, Winona // White Diamond</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:41:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22382545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/piinkstxrlight/pseuds/piinkstxrlight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>during the reaping of the 74th hunger games, marina's life completely changes when her younger sister is chosen. in an act of sacrifice, she volunteers herself in leau of rosemary. from another district, aneria offers herself up as tribute. when the two cross pathes in the arena, they must learn to work together if either wants to survive. may the odds be ever in their favor</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blue Diamond/Yellow Diamond (Steven Universe)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the odds [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>From the Treaty of Treason</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>In penance for their uprising,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>each district shall offer up</em>
</p><p>
  <em>a male and female between the ages of</em>
</p><p>
  <em>12 and 18 at a public "Reaping"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>These Tributes shall be delivered</em>
</p><p>
  <em>to the custody of The Capitol</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And then transferred to a public arena</em>
</p><p>
  <em>where they will Fight to the Death</em>
</p><p>
  <em>until a lone victor remains</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Henceforth and forevermore</em>
</p><p>
  <em>this pageant shall be known as</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>The Hunger Games</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      
    </em>
  </strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the reaping</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morning July air moves through the waves of the District Four coast. I stare out at the ocean with a calm demeanor, blue eyes cautious, olive skin glowing from the newly rising sun, brown hair being carried by the wind. It’s early enough that the sun is barely rising over the coastline, golden rays rippling across the water.</p>
<p>It’s five hours before the reaping, barely six in the morning. This is the precise reason that I’ve chosen to come so early. Typical mornings are bustling with fishermen and citizens, but not on reaping day. Everyone seems to stay inside until the dreadful event, keeping hidden from the abundance of Peacekeepers. Even if volunteers arise, this still doesn’t leave me as calm as I appear.</p>
<p>Rosemary, my younger sister, has just turned twelve three months ago, making her eligible for the reaping. Her name is in only once, while mine is in an astounding twenty-four, nineteen of those being purchased in exchange for tessera. With both parents passed on, I’m now the sole provider for myself and Rosemary. Even if I’m at a higher risk for being chosen, we both need anything they could get.</p>
<p>In my hand is a makeshift spear, a narrow log with a piercing piece of metal tied to the end. I must keep Rosemary at ease, and what better way than with breakfast. It takes nearly an hour for any fish to come close enough to the coastline, but eventually I puncture a medium-sized salmon and lift it from the water.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, but Rose and I need to eat...you understand.” I mutter and places the nearly-dead fish into woven basket.</p>
<p>As I draws closer to her home, I begin to hear the shrieks of my younger sister, causing my pace to pick up. When I open the door, I’m met with the tear-filled face of Rosemary. Her own blue eyes and freckled cheeks paint the picture of innocence, blonde hair in two braids at her side. When she notices I have returned, she runs and hugs me.</p>
<p>“I had a dream.” she chokes, “Marina...It was me.”</p>
<p>More than anything, I want to erase this pain from my sister. Rosemary didn’t deserve this fear, having to worry about the ‘what if’ factor. Yet despite her worry, she was safe. With her name in only once in comparison to the thousands of others, the odds are in her favor.</p>
<p>I stroke her blonde braids and kiss the top of her head, “But that is just what it was, a dream. You have nothing to fear Rose, I promise.”</p>
<p>Despite the soothing presence of her sister, Rosemary still trembles and lets tears slip from her eyes. This is the first of several more years that she will endure this feeling. Next year, another group of twelve-year olds have their names in only once while she and the other thirteen-year olds will move up to their names being in twice. I should be in five times.</p>
<p>As we prepare ourselves for the reaping, I adjust Rosemary’s now askew hairs and the untucked portion of her white blouse.</p>
<p>“Tuck in your tail, little duck.” I would tease, admiring my handywork, “There, you look very pretty.”</p>
<p>Rosemary merely crosses her arms and darts her blue eyes away, “You look prettier than me, like always.”</p>
<p>It was true, I have always been someone who many my age fawn over. Even my closest friend and hunting partner, Lyria, has admitted that the only thing keeping her from kissing me was the fact that we’ve been best friends since childhood. Even so, many want me, but I don’t have my eyes set on anyone.</p>
<p>I kneel down so me and my sister are eye level, then hug her, “That’s not true, you’re very pretty.”</p>
<p>The twelve year old simply huffs, then nods, “Fine.”</p>
<p>We walk alone to the square, following in suit with many other families whose children are in line for the same fate as us. Out of a thousand names, two will be plucked from our district and forced to fight to the death. Even within a district that often had volunteers, that never means that someone will take our spot.</p>
<p>A long row of tables barricade the space between the square and the rest of the town long behind us. Peacekeepers keep tally of which children have checked in and which haven’t, all absent being hunted down and sentenced to death.</p>
<p>“What are they doing?” Rosemary asks, her voice quivering as she notices spots of red on each sheet.</p>
<p>When I can tell that she is panicking, I stop and stare into her eyes, “It’s just a little prick, they get some blood so they know you’re here. It hardly hurts.”</p>
<p>“You never mentioned that.” she tries to focus on her breathing despite it racing.</p>
<p>“You’ll be okay, I’ll meet with you after the reaping.” I promise and we go our separate ways, Rosemary lining up with the twelve-year olds and myself with the sixteen year olds.</p>
<p>I observe Rosemary carefully, watching her flinch when her finger is pricked and blood drips onto the paper. It is ironic, the bloodshed beginning now before anyone has even step foot in the arena.</p>
<p>Spotting Lyria within the crowd, I make my way to stand beside her. Lyria tucks a hand into her dress pocket and pulls out a fresh piece of bread, subtly passing it into my own waiting hand.</p>
<p>“Happy Hunger Games.” she whispers.</p>
<p>I subtly take a bite and smiles, “And may the odds be ever in your favor.” I mock, donning the same accent that our district escort, Holly Blue does, “How many times are you in?”</p>
<p>Lyria looks down at the ground, “Forty-three, I can’t risk my brothers putting their names in extra times. I guess the odds aren’t in my favor.”</p>
<p>I glance at the two bowls, the one to the left filled with the males while the right is ours. Forty-three of those say Lyria, twenty-four are mine. One is Rosemary’s. I can’t be concerned about everyone else and their likelihoods, not even Lyria’s siblings.</p>
<p>Holly Blue steps onto the stage, light blue hair placed in two neat buns on either side of her head. She has a pep in her walk, being swapped from District 9 to us last year since their boy won two games ago. To be relocated to the richer districts is seen as an honor for escorts. </p>
<p>“Welcome!” her nasally voice echoes through the crowd, “Welcome, welcome. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.” she seems more than thrilled with us than she ever was with 9 or even 11.</p>
<p>Holly Blue straightens up and gestures towards the two screens in front of us, “Now, before we begin, we have a message for you <em> all </em> the way from the Capitol.”</p>
<p>As the film begins playing, Lyria whispers in my ear, “War, terrible war.” just as President Winona’s voice repeats the phrase seconds later, causing me to giggle. Lyria always finds a way to cheer me up, especially during something as grim as such.</p>
<p>I’ve seen the same message from the Capitol every year, how the districts rebelled and in return for peace, we essentially sent them our children to murder each other. I’ve never seen a purpose for the games, it is made into such a spectacle, 1 and 2 seeing it as the highest honor to volunteer and display the strength of their district.</p>
<p>When the film ends, Holly Blue comes back to the microphone, “Now, the time has begun where we will draw one courageous young man and woman to represent district 4 in the 74th annual Hunger Games. As usual, ladies first.”</p>
<p>She crosses the stage and stares at each slip of paper, circling her hand over the pile until she shoves her hand into the mix. Pulling out one slip, she carries it back to her spot and unfolds it as slow as possible. I’m so tense that I don’t even notice Lyria has grabbed my hand for support.</p>
<p>Holly Blue opens her mouth and reads off the name.</p>
<p>“Rosemary Halloren.”</p>
<p>☓♥☓</p>
<p>“I volunteer as tribute.”</p>
<p>My voice is much more confident that I truly am, yet I stare at the District 2 escort with the most intimidating look I can muster up. Just like all summer days, its dry and blistering with heat. Sweat coats the faces of most everyone, a combination of nerves as well as the intense weather.</p>
<p>Nobody is surprised that there is a volunteer, but some are shocked as to why I have chosen to sentence myself to such a fate. The simple answer is that it is in my family.</p>
<p>The more complicated one is the legacy. My grandfather won the 3rd Hunger Games, my grandmother a year later. They had my father, who volunteered for the 49th games and won as well. It has been my destiny since I was born, even if it isn’t one I’m particularly excited for.</p>
<p>The line of other 17 year old girls part, allowing me to walk towards the makeshift aisle and eventually to the stage. Some cheer for me, others are silent. Even if we are often known as a winning district, not everyone makes it back alive and I am no exception.</p>
<p>The escort practically pulls me up the stairs and beside the microphone, “What is your name dear?”</p>
<p>“Aneria Soleil.” I speak proudly, the recognizable surname earning me a chorus of cheers.</p>
<p>She gives a beaming smile and leads me to stand on the other side of the stage, “Well, we appreciate your courage. Now, for the boys.”</p>
<p>As she reaches into the bowl, a hand from the back of the crowd shoots up, “I volunteer as tribute.”</p>
<p>I stare out at who the newest volunteer is and feel my heart lurch into my throat. His name is Donovan, just a month away from turning 19. Frankly, it should be considered cheating but the Capitol has allowed tributes to turn in the arena. Despite the clear disadvantage being against him, I keep my confident stare.</p>
<p>Donovan walks up the aisle and eventually jogs up the stairs. He’s taller than me, brown shaggy hair and almost entirely muscle. He was built for these games, it’s no doubt that he’ll be one of the notable contenders.</p>
<p>“Our tributes from District 2.” the escort announces with a wide smile, “Aneria Soleil and Donovan Apollan.”</p>
<p>The crowd erupts into cheers as Donovan grabs my hand and lifts our arms into the air. A sense of unity, that one of us will come back victorious. He seems to believe it is him just by how thrilled he is. Even if I appear to be happy, I know in my heart I could’ve waited until next year.</p>
<p>As we are led off the stage and into the Justice Building behind us, I catch myself messing with my cropped, blonde hair. A nervous habit that I picked up as a child. Donovan doesn’t seem to notice and neither does the escort. We’re led into separate rooms, being promised visitors prior to our departure.</p>
<p>Sure enough, my parents and grandparents are allowed into the room just minutes later. They’re all cheering, especially my father. He had been privately training me since my 7th birthday in hopes of continuing our legacy of victors. Even if I’m not as prepared as I hope, he was insistent on me volunteering for these games.</p>
<p>“First thing you do in there, get a knife, even a bag if you are fast enough.” he instructs, “Team up with Donovan and District 1, maybe even 4. Gain allies, strength in numbers is important <em> especially </em> towards the end.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be afraid to make the first kill.” my grandmother chimes in, “Use your brain, it is also a mental game Aneria.”</p>
<p>As every ounce of information I could need is relayed, the doors open and the Peacekeepers return. I’m given one last hug by each of them before they leave and shut the door behind them.</p>
<p>In the mahogany filled room, I’m finally alone with my thoughts.</p>
<p>Am I truly ready for this?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>first chapter is complete! i hope everyone enjoyed, i promise as the story continues, chapters will get longer, but i wanted to leave off marina's section as a cliffhanger (even if anyone who has seen or read the hunger games knows what happens) as well as introduce aneria's legacy. if you have any character suggestions, i still haven't picked out a few people (i have chosen rue &amp; haymitch who will be introduced further in).</p>
<p>i will try to update once a week, if not a bit more frequently.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the train</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In my life, fear has been something that is few and far between. The first time I felt fear was when I nearly drowned in the ocean at age 6. Luckily, my father was there to save me and I was fine. The second time was when I discovered my parents were killed and that I would be left to raise Rosemary alone. Neither of those compare to the gut-churning feeling that conjures when her name is read aloud.</p><p>I watch as Rosemary carefully exits the sea of 12-year-olds and it is more than obvious that she is on the brink of tears. After a few steps, she tucks her blouse back into her skirt. This grounds me and I realize what is truly happening. My baby sister was just reaped, she is going to die. This ends up being enough to force me out of the crowd and call her name.</p><p>“Rosemary! Rose!” I shriek out, my voice cracking as I try to chase her down. Four peacekeepers make their way towards me and grab my arms, dragging my resisting body back as I continue to shout.</p><p>She turns around, blue eyes filled with pure and uncut fear. I’m not even sure if she is breathing. A new sense of determination fills me as I thrash enough to break one arm loose. I find my voice again and yell something that I never thought I even could.</p><p>“I volunteer! I volunteer!” I finally scream and push them away, “I volunteer as tribute.”</p><p>The stunned silence brings me back to reality and I realize what I’ve just done. Everything around me is buzzing, but nobody dares speak. Rosemary comes dashing towards me and hugs me tight, crying on impact.</p><p>“No!” she yells, squeezing my body as she trembles.</p><p>I kneel down and look into her already red eyes as she gasps for breath, “Rose, it’s okay. It’s okay.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“I know, I’m so sorry.” I hug her and she is suddenly lifted out of my grip and over Lyria’s shoulder, her shrill cries continuing to fill the former void of sound.</p><p>I’m not sure when I started crying, but tears roll across my cheeks as the same four Peacekeepers escort me towards the stage and stand guard until I’m in the custody of Holly Blue. Staring out into the audience, I see Lyria still holding my sister, trying her best to ease her. My heart shatters and everything suddenly stops, the gravity of the situation really beginning to take its toll. I have volunteered for the Hunger Games.</p><p>“What is your name?” Holly Blue asks, giving me full access to the microphone in front of me.</p><p>I breathe, the sound echoing, “Marina Halloren.”</p><p>“Well, I’d like to bet that is your sister.”</p><p>“Yes.” I’m too dazed to provide actual responses to her questions, staring out at Lyria and Rosemary.</p><p>She claps her hands together and smiles, “Let’s give it up for our female tribute, Marina Halloren.”</p><p>Instead of cheers or even claps, the audience of individuals unanimously lift three fingers in salute. It was used during the rebellion as a final send off, that almost fills me with more worry than before. They don’t have faith in me, they know just as much as I do that I’ll die in that arena.</p><p>The male tribute is reaped, a boy who has just turned 15. I’ve seen his face around, but I’m not familiar with him. He looks like a deer in the headlights, I’m sure that he wasn’t expecting this either.</p><p>“Our tributes from District Four! Marina Halloren and Kai Hippophae.” she looks between us, “Now, shake hands.”</p><p>I turn towards the frowning boy, now named Kai, and we join our hands between us with fear-stricken looks.</p><p>“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.”</p><p>As we’re taken into the justice building, my hands worry against each other and I swear I’m picking at my nails like I did years before. Nervous habits die hard.</p><p>Rosemary and Lyria visit me together, the three of us clutching each other on the floor. My sister and I are a mess of sobs while Lyria does her best to comfort us both. Even though she is doing her best, she can’t understand the meaning behind our tears. All she has left is me, and she’s going to watch me be killed.</p><p>“She’ll stay with us.” Lyria promises me, her hand resting on my shoulder, “I promise she’ll be safe.”</p><p>All I can muster up is a nod and a choked out, “Thank you.”</p><p>“Promise me you’ll try.” Rosemary speaks for the first time since she’s been in the room, “You’re smart...and you can hunt.”</p><p>“I’ll try.” I promise and blink through another wave of tears, “You’ll be okay Rose…”</p><p>When the double doors open, Rosemary suddenly clings tighter to me and repeats a chorus of, “No, please.” until we’re eventually separated and they become screams. I’m too broken to cry anymore, so I simply tell her, “I promise Rosemary.” as the door slams shut.</p><p>Holly Blue leads Kai and I towards the train, cameras following our every move. In all honesty, it is extremely nerve-wracking to have all these eyes on us. The entirety of Panem now knows who we are despite having no knowledge just an hour ago. In an attempt to gain sponsors, both of us give hesitant smiles and wave whilst boarding the pure metal train. The door shuts behind us and begins moving out of the station</p><p>Citizens outside of the districts never get to leave, let alone go to the Capitol. Everyone stays where they belong, and the games are sending me to a place I’ve only heard of in school. The people of the Capitol get to flourish themselves in riches, never worrying where their next meal may come from.</p><p>“Marina and Kai, correct?” Holly Blue’s voice chimes in, pointing towards us.</p><p>We nod in unison and she grins, ushering we sit with her, “It is such an honor to work with you two, as it is an honor for you to work with us. We are currently en route to the Capitol, where today you will meet your mentors as well as your stylists. Tomorrow is the opening ceremony where you will be introduced to the citizens of the Capitol as well as the sponsors. Your goal is to make a good first impression. Now, I’d like you two to meet your mentor.” </p><p>☓♥☓</p><p>Most tributes from District 2 end up lucky and have one of the better victors as their mentor, whether it be someone who won by strength or by smarts. Then there are the unlucky few who end up with Greg, an alcoholic in his mid 40’s who won the 50th games. He completely isolates himself from society and seems to only ‘come out’ for the games.</p><p>His advice is limited, the total opposite of everything I’ve been taught by my family. Greg’s approach is much more reserved, not showing the other tributes our strength until it is too late, ditching the Cornucopia to find immediate shelter, what my family would call an undeserving winner.</p><p>Despite this, I listen to what he says very carefully. I really haven’t been given much information when it comes to actual <em> surviving </em>, just how to kill. Donovan seems disinterested, focusing everywhere but on Gregory. </p><p>“What about shelter?” I pipe in, “I’m sure if we have numbers, the idea of sleep won’t be terrible.”</p><p>He tsks and shakes his head, “You always have to be on your toes, just...don’t trust anyone.” he insists and takes another drink, “Everyone in there wants you dead.”</p><p>“So we’ll kill them all.” Donovan shrugs with a cocky smirk, “Easy peasy.”</p><p>“You need to listen to this very carefully.” Gregory’s tone swaps to one much more aggressive, “With <em> that </em> kind of approach, there is no way you’ll make it past the first day. This game isn’t about killing, it is about staying alive. You can kill as much as you want, but what are you going to do when you’re starving and have to know what kind of berries are poisonous or not? What about dehydration? Neither of you have spent a second of your lives without food and it shows. The poorer districts have that advantage just as you two know how to kill. I won for a reason and it wasn’t just because I knew how to use a knife.”</p><p>For once, Donovan and I are left in stunned silence. Gregory takes this advantage to stand up and grab his drink, “Go to bed, we’ll talk tomorrow.”</p><p>Donovan invites me to watch the recap of the reaping across the districts. Even if I don’t trust him, I’ll take any information that I can get. We both sit down on a plush couch in front of an enormous screen, the screen suddenly flickering on with the replay, beginning with District 1.</p><p>Just as expected, both are volunteers, I don’t catch the boy’s name but the girl refers to herself as Jasper, buff muscles and long poofy blonde hair to accompany her. She’s eighteen and it is obvious that she’ll be a contender.</p><p>Our reaping looks much more eventful than it truly is, the crowd cheering when Donovan and I both volunteer as tribute. District 3 flies by, but it is 4 that catches my attention. The girl is a volunteer, but not quite by choice. A younger girl, presumably just twelve is reaped and someone who looks to be her sister volunteers. It is a dramatic event, the younger of the two being carried off whilst screaming and sobbing. I pay no attention to the boy, but this girl leaves a lasting impression. Her name is revealed in the end, Marina Halloren. No doubt that she’ll be the center of attention before the games.</p><p>District 6 has a volunteer as well which is nearly unheard of, but I’m sure she won’t last long. This girl is short, maybe thirteen or fourteen at most. District 12 has a girl who is roughly fifteen, but the boy is freshly twelve, brown curly hair and pure fear in his eyes. It makes me feel grateful that I’ve been trained, even if it was illegally. If it isn’t Donovan, it’s Jasper. If it isn’t Jasper, it’s me. These are the people we are going to be killing. </p><p>The following morning, we arrived at the Capitol and I’m surprisingly not nervous. In some way or another, I need to match Donovan’s confidence or exceed it. I know that the sponsors will adore him, he’s the epitome of a victor. If I stand any chance against him, I need to start playing myself up.</p><p>I do just as all should, smile and wave, talk to people, try my best to make them like me. It is hard to tell if they can see right through it, they must know I’m playing this up. However, I keep it up and show everyone how honored I am to be representing District 2 and that I’m prepared to kill anyone in my way.</p><p>Our escort leads us to our compartment, a living space on the second floor of the Training Center. Each district has a different level of the building, 12 stories in total while the actual center is below ground. The sessions are mandatory and frankly, I’m glad. While I appreciate coming into these games with an unfair advantage, being able to see the strengths and weaknesses of our competition will be beneficial. Before any training sessions take place, the opening ceremony is to be held.</p><p>The opening ceremony is the first public appearance of all 24 tributes, each district being assigned a different stylist and showing our individualities for all of Panem to see. With my district being known for masonry, the costumes are a hit or miss. It truly depends on the stylist.</p><p>Three assistants have me lie down, my eyes staring up at the dull gray ceiling. I lose count on how many times my body is rinsed and eventually waxed. Even if I’m from one of the richer districts, it is still outside the Capitol and therefore outside their beauty standards. One of the assistants begs to have my hair dyed some odd color while another pleads to inject ‘enhancers’ into my lips. I reject each of their absurd offers and they leave with a huff.</p><p>My lead stylist eventually arrives and doesn’t try to make real conversation with me, just subtle compliments and digs here and there. She stares down at me with overly long eyelashes and pinpoints every flaw or asset that I have. Just like the assistants, she mentions my lips and I decline once more. She takes it better than the others and has me sit up, touching my hair, then my ribs and eventually my cheeks.</p><p>“Your name...Aneria, it means golden.” she ponders, her fingers tracing along the skin of my neck, “Golden hair, golden freckles...you’ll be the Capitol’s golden girl.” she decides and begins formulating a plan.</p><p>I don’t fight as she lines my cheeks with golden dust and something she calls “dazzle”. The stylist then transforms my lips from a pale pink into a shimmering gold, using some of the dazzle on top and adding it to almost every part of my face. A tiara of the same color stars is placed on my head and I’m fitted into something that is half dress, half shorts.</p><p>The top has sleeves on my shoulders and a tightly fitted chest and waist. My left leg is concealed by the same fabric while the right is instead golden, spandex shorts with the same color lace above it. To my shock it is comfortable.</p><p>“Take a look.” the stylist smiles and leads me to a mirror.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes, i know this chapter took me way too long. i went on vacation for a week and school has been eating my ass. anyways, i'll try to publish more &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>get ready y'all...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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